


the grail dialogue

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider Blade
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations with the Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the grail dialogue

_Why do you refuse to fight?_  
   
He glances up to find that shimmering black shape hovering silently overhead, twisting and untwisting as it blots out the sunlight, and he smiles at it wearily.  
   
“So you’re finally talking? It’s about time.”  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_ it repeats. Its voice – if you can call it that – seems to come from everywhere and yet nowhere at all, its words not of any recognizable language and yet somehow perfectly understandable.  
   
“Seriously?” Kazuma says, tilting his head to the side with a frown. “You were there the whole time, weren’t you? You really think I’d just give in and fight after I went through all that trouble?”  
   
The Master goes quiet for a long moment.  
   
_You are not one of the fifty-three,_ it says finally.  
   
“Oh, really?” Kazuma almost rolls his eyes. “For a God you’re kinda… absentminded, aren’t you? The world almost ended, y’know. You could stand to pay closer attention.”  
   
_You are an anomaly,_ it says. _You are disturbing the order. These events were not supposed to occur._  
   
Kazuma lets his head fall back, then, hitting the warm, dusty rock behind him with a painful ‘thump.’ Getting hurt isn’t so bad, he’s decided. Anything to take his mind off of that desperate, magnetic pull, that ache in the back of his mind that he can still feel even here, halfway across the world.  
   
“Good,” he mutters, and halfheartedly chucks a rock at that twisting black structure. (It vanishes into thin air just before the rock connects.)   
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_  
   
Kazuma sighs, looking over to find the monolith there, looming over him, jutting out of the pebble-strewn riverbank that had moments ago been empty.  
   
“You’re here too, huh?”  
   
He’s not entirely sure where ‘here’ is. A different time? A different world? That weird guy with the bucket hat and glasses hadn’t explained much. Just told him to “be wary of Decade,” whatever the hell that means. Either way, being here is a blessed relief – the distance far enough that the urge to fight is almost completely gone. (It will catch up with him again soon, probably. But at least for a time, he can rest easy.)  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_ it repeats.  
   
“Because I don’t want to,” he says. He pauses, staring out across the water, thinking that the light seems different in this place. Sharp and biting like the edge of a knife. “And because I love him.”  
   
_Undead cannot love. That is not how I made them._  
   
Kazuma laughs softly. “Yeah, well. Sorry to say, but your whole ‘plan’ seems to have gotten thrown off a bit.”  
   
The Master falls silent, the shimmer of colour on its black surface – like an oil slick, Kazuma thinks – shifting back and forth, as if it were in deep thought.  
   
_What does love feel like?_  
   
Kazuma blinks up at it.  
   
“You’re asking me? I thought God was supposed to ‘love their creations,’” he says. “Or is that just a story?”  
   
The oil slick shifts once more, more muted this time, its glossy colours seeming to lose some of their luster.  
   
_I must have, once,_ it says. _But I can no longer remember. I wonder why that is._  
   
It begins to twist, folding in upon itself little by little until it disappears entirely, and Kazuma finds himself alone again on the riverbank, the sound of the water louder, now, as if the world’s volume has suddenly been turned back up.  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_  
   
His head is pounding. He’s been in this world far too long – the itch to fight has caught up with him, and the presence of the Master is only making it worse, its words rattling and reverberating in his skull. Is it like this for Hajime, too? he wonders, and that thought alone is like a knife to the heart.  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_ it repeats.  
   
“Shut up,” Kazuma whispers, clapping his hands over his ears in a futile effort to keep the noise out. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” He can feel the structure looming over him, pressing in closer and closer, and in his frustration throws a haphazard punch, knuckles connecting hard with solid stone. He hits it again and again, and by the time he comes back to himself his breath is coming in quick gasps, hands split and raw, green dripping down his fingers and slick on his palms.  
   
The monolith is still spotless. Just that deep, endless dark staring back at him.  
   
He turns away, a bone-deep tiredness pulling at him with every step he takes, and he can still feel it watching.  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
_Why do you refuse to fight?_  
   
Kazuma tips his shades down to stare at it. Rare, that the Master would show up in the middle of a city, but it’s not like there’s anyone around here anyhow. This entire world – the sixth he’s been to since leaving his own behind – is strangely, eerily empty. He keeps thinking he sees people out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns the streets are still deserted, his own footsteps echoing like gunshots.  
   
“You’re still following me around? I really hope you don’t bother Hajime like this.”  
   
_Why do you refuse to fight?_ it repeats.  
   
“Because I want him to live his life,” Kazuma says, and turns to walk away. Mutters: “Why do I even bother answering if you’re just gonna keep asking me?”  
   
_What about you, Kenzaki Kazuma? What about your life?_  
   
Kazuma halts mid-step. He feels strange, suddenly – worn and thin and faded, not quite complete, as if he’d left a part of himself somewhere else. His hand curls into a fist at his side, fingers digging into his palm hard enough to hurt, the pain like an anchor tethering him to this place, this moment.  
   
“Seriously?” he calls over his shoulder. “You’re asking me that now?” He shakes his head. “You’re really behind the times, y’know. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing.”  
   
_I do not understand,_ the Master says. _Why do you do this? I do not understand._  
   
“Then you’re a shitty excuse for a God,” Kazuma says, and lifts a hand in parting as he turns the corner, moving on to another empty street.  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
He is picking his way through the underbrush when the structure appears silently in front of him, its surface calm and pure, jet black, like staring into a starless sky.  
   
Kazuma waits for it – that same, tired question. But it doesn’t come.  
   
“What is this, a social visit?” Kazuma raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t have anything pointless to ask me, maybe you could get out of the way? You’re kinda blocking the path.”  
   
_I remember now,_ the Master says. _I remember how I used to love them._  
   
Kazuma glances up sharply, his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.  
   
_I loved them, but it was not enough. They wanted to evolve. They wanted to conquer the world for their own. And so I gave them this. The Battle Fight. And the more they fought and changed, the more I did not recognize them, and I began to forget how things had been before. I forgot who I was. I forgot why I had created them at all._  
   
_But you… You are not one of mine. You never wished for this Fight. And you never will. I see that, now. You will continue this standstill for eternity, because of your love._  
   
“… Oh, so you finally get it?” Kazuma says, laughing weakly, a terrible ache in his chest as he tries not to hope. “How about doing me a favor and calling this whole thing off, then?”  
   
The Master pauses, long and contemplative, a gleam of light flashing across its dark surface.  
   
_Yes,_ it says, and slowly vanishes, leaving only its bright edges behind. As if there were a door there, carved into the air itself, waiting for someone to open it. _I will._  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
_(Would you like to go home, Kenzaki Kazuma?)_


End file.
